Voyeurism Novels & Stories

“Hmm… you don’t need to. Just looking at you gets me wet, husband.” He grinned like a handsome idiot. I kissed him on his lips. Hard. He kissed me back. And he was rubbing himself against me again, his lips re-kindling their exploration. “Oh, there’s something else we haven’t tried,” I suddenly said, not really thinking. “Voyeurism. Orgy.” I actually meant that as a joke. But he tensed, and I did, too, because I knew exactly what he was thinking. Or who he was thinking about that I was thinking when I said that.

My name is Ted and I'm a voyeur. I'm not a Peeping-Tom or anything creepy like that; in fact, until recently, my voyeurism had always been restricted to watching strangers have sex in adult videos or Internet p**n. There are a couple of videos that my wife and I watch occasionally that are shot from the viewpoint of a "watcher," and I really like them. (So does she, by the way.)

They say the most nasty things to me, and I think I am eager to try two new kinks. Voyeurism and Exhibitionism. I would want to watch other ladies get fucked and want to do the same too. But damn it, I want Zane to be the want to take me while other men get so jealous of the way I scream loud. I start a stream of messaging with the Doms, watching them send a few videos of subs being manhandled and I get so hot. I wouldn't lie, but I wish it were me. *** ***ZANE'S POV***

It was cluttered with naked and semi-naked bodies that were writhing and moaning in physical pleasures. Some were held by chains, others stood in gilded cages while a few twirled around on erected polls. There was no gender bias, males and females were both hosts and participants. A dark melody played in the background as naked beings with only one objective in mind downed alcohol and blood. Voyeurism was one kink Vildus truly enjoyed and that was exactly the reason he loved orgies. “This is heaven,” Romello squealed from beside Vildus and ran off to find himself a suitable partner.

The girl swallowed hard, something inside her longed to be touched by that man. "Stop playing coy." He unbuckled his pants and pulled down the zipper. He wasn’t one to beat around the bush, especially not when it came to women. It was obvious that the little girl wanted it; she was begging to be fucked. "This is the only chance I’ll give you. If you don’t take it, later you’ll have to beg, and I doubt you’ll convince me." Libia licked her lips. Having sex with her captor was the stupidest thing she could do, but her life was full of bad decisions, so she pulled down her cotton shorts, followed by her panties.

Besides, the paramedics wouldn’t let me in the ambulance, so I kissed Brody and told him I would meet him at the hospital. Mom always leaves her contact info for date night on the kitchen counter in an envelope. I guess I always figured that was so it wouldn’t get lost. Now I realize that she did it for privacy reasons. Club Voyeur. That sounds a little ominous. I mean, it literally means to observe, but it is more specific than that. It means to watch sex acts. Which is what I will now be doing, I guess.

I muttered. “Thieves hate CCTV cameras,” he replied. “People under involuntary surveillance hate CCTV cameras.” “Who dares to put you under surveillance?” “None of your business,” I shot back, frustrated. He always tangled my thoughts in knots, making me say and do things I shouldn’t. “You’re not under surveillance. The cameras are for the protection of the premises. You can do anything here, sweetheart, and no one will stop you,” he said, his voice deepening. “No one will ever know.” His words touched something inside me, their implications endless. “I like that I can admire you from afar,” he added.

Ripped pants, wet bruised pussy out, legs sprawled on the chair in front of my bestie’s dad, I let him watch. “Jesus.” He mumbles and shuts his eyes, pressing tightly. Enzo Macini has undeniably seen all of me. My breasts. Pussy… Every damn thing. A sense of fulfillment washes over me. The initial feeling of embarrassment is replaced with warmth, a burning desire to torture him as much as I can. I stay, legs wide apart, daring him to open his eyes and steal another dirty glance.

“They’re called exhibitionists.” I swallowed. I already figured that out. “So they… mmhm god…” My eyes rolled back in my head. “They can’t see us?” “No. But they’re aware they’re being watched,” he answered, his hand sliding down my dress slowly. “The people standing here, watching, just like us, are called—” “Voyeurs,” I finished with a moan. “They’re called voyeurs. Just like the man who liked watching another man eat his wife out. I know that much.”

Carl’s eyes gleamed with an unspoken hunger, and Caleb’s lips curved into a knowing smile. My heart pounded in my chest, my core tightening. Handsome men and beautiful women entwined their bodies in a tapestry of lust. They groaned and moaned, their voices reverberating through the erotic space. I felt my own cheeks flush as the scene before me ignited a forbidden flame in my core. Caleb and Carl watched my reaction with amusement in their eyes. “Another beauty of this room,” Caleb whispered seductively, “is in the voyeurism.” The practice of gaining sexual pleasure from watching others pleasuring themselves or doing the act in front of you.